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Visiting a Medic
Back to 2010 Logs Goa Robustus Goa darts to and fro in the busy roads, causing minor traffic problems, but nothing greater than the irritation of a few fellow cars. It's clear that in his CPU, he's still concentrating on maximum speed from point to point, like he would've back in the day. It'd taken him a while to collect the data -- chatting with a couple of the other soldiers, a hat tip or two from Cubicron -- but he was reasonably sure he was on the right track. The smell of medical credentials was getting ever stronger, the shanties a little less shanty, and finally, he finds his destination, a medical tent in a cranny. Goa pulls up outside, and stops to listen. Robustus is on the outskirts of the Iron Workshops, having set up a kind of portable medical clinic and asking the guards to send any workers that needed his medical skills his way. Not surprisingly he's been at work for awhile now as he works on the injuries that these workers get working with the cauldrons. He's also checking on their general health as he fixes scald burns, limbs that were crushed, broken, or otherwise damaged by moving the cauldrons around. His latest patient is the last for this cycle, at least he thinks so as there is no longer a line up outside his clinic. "There you go, try to take it easy on that foot for awhile eh?" he says to the patient who nods and pays the medic for his efforts, "Thanks Robustus." Goa's engine rumbles ponderously. He'd have to buy that last contact, the one that pointed him this way, a drink sometime. Maybe when he wasn't so dead broke. The Decepticon transforms as quietly as he can, scuttling to his feet outside, stepping aside as that last mech steps out. They share an awkward look for a moment. Goa shoulders his way into the tent exactly the same way the other guy left. "Robustus?" Robustus looks slightly surprised to see Goa enter his temporary clinic, then smiles to him, "A good cycle to you Goa, what brings you to the Iron Workshops hmm?" he asks, working on cleaning up his tools at the moment in a solution of chemicals that removes the grime and so on from them, then drying them with a cloth after he retrieves one at a time out of the solution. Goa takes a few steps further inside, not looking at Robustus so much once he's confirmed his identity. The shorter Decepticon is much more eager to take in every nook and cranny of the clinic with his optics. He pauses and smiles over at the mech, trying to keep his dental plates from showing (with limited success). "Was looking for you, actually," he tries to clasps his hands behind his back. No dice. He clutches at the sides of his roof plate instead, "Never got to properly thank you. Slag could've gotten ... interesting in there without your help." Robustus hmms softly as he listens to you, then glances over at you a moment, "Your commander convinced me you needed repairs that could not wait, I simply did what he needed done. However, I appreciate you offering your thanks after the fact. I trust the leg has not caused you any issues?" he asks, picking out another tool from the solution and drying it. "Yeah, I was wondering about that." The Decepticon seems satisfied with his look-over of the room and stands closer to the medic. "... considering, though," he snickers, "He came out in person and talked you into it? That's ..." Goa drifts off into heartier snickering for a moment, but then it suddenly dies down, and the mech twists at his beard. "... actually pretty slagging weird. Hilarious, but weird." He peeks down into one of the vats of cleaning chems. Robustus studies you a quiet moment, just observing you. "He saw my mobile clinic and just walked in, insisted I come with him to deal with a patient that he wanted to be sure got care that was overdue." he cocks his head a little, "If you say so, Goa. It is not like I know him as you would." Goa seems pretty bouncy on his feet, compared to the sullen model of a Decepticon warrior. "I do say so," he chirps, stepping back away from the cleaning operation, "You deserve to know he's the one that broke my leg. Hurt like I was dunked waist-deep in the Pit, but, ahahah," he pauses to catch his vocalizer before it gets ahead of himself laughing, "I had no idea..." He rubs at his helmet, trying to wipe something invisible away from the top of the cone. Maybe a processor ache. "Besides that, though, was wondering if I could get you to have a look at this." He shoves the thick scar on his left cheek upward with a bright orange finger. "Afraid I'm startin' to make the wrong impressions. Don't want mechs thinking I'm some kind of crazy old war veteran." Robustus retrieves the last tool from the solution and dries it, it is set down by his other tools on a small table. He then affixes you with those silvery optics at the declaration that Megatron caused the leg issue. "I.. see." there's a little frown forming upon his lips as he shakes his head and sighs. "I knew that leg injury looked wrong, to be honest with you. But I could also see it was previously weakened before the impact of fist to leg occurred." he notes softly, then he glances toward the cheek scar and hmms, "Ah, yes, I noticed it before but your commander didn't want it tended to at the time." he pauses just a moment, then gestures to the med table that is set up nearby. "Some mechs keep their war scars as mementoes, to give the impression of being touch. Sadly such scars do weaken the integrity of one's own metal makeup. I would be happy to fix it for you." Robustus touch=tough Goa shrugs. "I had it coming. Not to say there wasn't a slagging good reason I didn't get it fixed sooner. So, in short, I had it coming." He takes a couple steps back, fidgeting with his hands, again unwilling to look straight at the mech. "That'd be great," the Decepticon's two index fingers butt against each other, "how much does it run?" He looks you straight in the optics, ridges raised slightly. "I always thought that was funny. Bosses an' slag. Scar just shows somebody can cut you deep." Robustus inclines his head slightly, "I do not share your viewpoint on deserving it, Goa." he states, moving toward the med table as he wheels the smaller table over to it. "Oh the scar will be an easy fix, and considering who your commander is, I shall not charge you for it. Your thanks is enough for me." he says, patting the table to indicate you need to get up there for him to work on you. "Physical scars are one thing Goa, emotional and mental quite another." Goa hops up onto the bench and onto his back, pausing to look at you before evening his back plates out. "What, you in that business too?" The interlocking plates slide flush(er) against the table surface, and he lowers the back of his helmet to rest on the same. "And oh. Didn't deserve it. Just saying, I pro'lly should've gotten it fixed instead of blowing my paycheck on getting too drunk to notice it." He half shutters his optics, trying to look over toward you. "Something wrong with who my commander is? Just sayin'." Robustus flicks his right headlight on to get a better visual of the facial scar, his hands laying along your face gently as he fingers the area carefully to seek out any underlying issues. "My business is seeing to it that all that require my services get it, even if that means I take a slight financial hit because of it. Not everyone has the credits to go to a regular clinic, especially with this war raging on. So many have lost their means of financial support." then a pause to your question, "I do not take kindly to mechs using brute force upon their subordinates in order to force repairs upon them. There are better ways to deal with such things." "There are." Goa's optics darken to blood-red, nearly black, to compensate for the sudden flash of light. "You gotta admit it's effective, though." The pattern of the wound is more of a skid mark than a slash. The little green plate cradling his jaw's had a good chunk chipped out of it ... and his helmet is scratched up in a matching vector. Though that just blends into the dents, scratches and scuffs all over his head. "Don't mean that," he tugs the uninteresting side of his mouth upward, "I meant mental help. Emotional help." Outside of view, Goa is wrenching his hands against the sides of the table uneasily. Robustus finishes prodding the area, satisfied there's not much of a underlying issue. He slides a hand under your helm, picking it up slightly, then the other hand under your neck so he can press in the points for pain reception. Setting your helm back down he turns to take up a laser scalpel, he adjusts the power setting as well as blade length. "May want to power down the optics entirely, Goa." he suggests, though he notices they are pretty dimmed already, "Are you asking for yourself?" he inquires, resting his hand on your lower jaw as he cuts into the area that's chipped in the cheek area. The cut is swift, but precise, a slice over, then down, then back the other way, before rejoining with the first cut. His fingertips magnetize and the piece pulls out neatly when he retracts his hand. Goa certainly doesn't mind cutting the power with one of ... those ... blades so close to his face again. His optic shutters flick down, too. And he doesn't say anything, just grits his jaw until that odd pressure from the cuts has come and gone. "No," he mutedly grunts, "The last guy that did tried to do what you're doing now. Just without turning off the sensors." His antennae fold out of their grooves, and Goa tries his hand at echolocation, just for giggles... Robustus does a visual inspection of the underlying facial structure, then a physical one as well, just to confirm his earlier findings. He hmms softly, "Didn't take his medical oath seriously then." he states, turning toward the small table to pick up a small welder and a piece of metal that won't quite match your face. He uses the welder to heat up the metal so it glows just enough, then using small tongs he sets the metal into the vacant spot and presses down with said tongs to get the metal to take in place. This done, he picks up the scalpel again and cuts the still malleable metal to the exact size of the hole. Completing that, he uses the tongs to push the edges into place. The welder is passed over the edges and a welding rod used to fill in any gaps. Goa finally releases his death grip on the table. "You're tellin' me." He sighs, but no air leaves his nosecone or mouth. The hissing is from his chassis alone. "Said there were mechs that couldn't pay, because of the war..." He lets his guard down further, as the medic's subtle shifting allows his antennae to pinpoint what's going on. "How bad is it, Robustus?" Robustus extinguishes the welder and sets it down with the rod, now picking up a small metal grinder to smooth out the metal that was formed by the rod before it cools too much. He checks to make sure the silicon metal is level with the original then sets the grinder down, picking up the buffer to smooth out what the grinder did. "Not bad at all, just about done here. Will need to match your facial tone though since the patch is obvious right now." Goa clicks his optics back on, back to middle red-orange, and the covers flip up. "I meant the war. How bad is it, for you, for them." The Decepticon's voice is a little lower, and toned a lot more serious. He looks down at the buffer on his cheek. "Match ... how do you match that? Paint?" Robustus turns off the buffer and sets that aside, he bends over to retract a color matching portable scanner and passes it over your face. He hmms softly as it shows the color and how to match it with base colors. He then moves over to a small cabinet, which he opens to pull out a small can of green and a can of white. Each is opened, the amounts measured out and mixed into a small container. He replies to the last question first, "Yes, paint." then carries the container over and sits on a stool next to you, a small airbrush is in the container already. "For the neutrals the war is bad, whole towns have been lost, or at least whole sections of towns, which has forced them into the refugee camp near Iacon or even down into Cubricon. There was a number of them in Iahex, but a couple of attacks there have scared them out." he takes some paint into the airbrush, gives it a couple small blasts into the container to make sure the setting is right, then drapes a cloth over your face, including the optic, as well as the helm to the side. "Oh." He can't really tell what Robustus is working on with his sensors this dim. Just that there's something poking at his face. But his optics dim, then shut again, even before his face gets covered up. "I got another femme that does the detailing, don't worry about it too much. Gotta get my back fixed anyway." He frowns slightly before he feels something on his face, and startles -- whipping his arm up to grab at it. Once he feels what it is, he freezes, then sets his limbs back down, "... sorry about that." Another harsh cycle of air leaves Goa's sides. "We weren't..." the mech's voice muffles, "We weren't aiming for the civvies. Well, I wasn't. But ... but that's how it works, isn't it. Not useful to anybody, you get screwed." Robustus picks up a bit more paint in the airbrush and passes it over the silicon metal, which is still warm still. The arm movement is noted, "Quite all right, I've had worse reactions." he assures. He makes several passes before he turns off the airbrush then takes the cloth off. He then wheels over a heat lamp to help speed up the drying process. "Just lay there still for a cycle Goa, the paint has to dry." he instructs, moving to take the remaining paint out of the container and putting it into a small can. "You can take this with you for any further facial patch issues." he states, setting the can nearby. The tools are rolled out of the way. He hmms, "Femme eh?" he smiles a little to that, then a nod, "Sometimes when you are useful, you still get screwed." Goa clicks his antennae back and forth a few times, "Yeh." He smirks. "She's more of a chop...per than a medic. Academy dropout, I think. And busy as all slag." The lenses of his optics dim again, albeit less dramatically, before the light of the lamp. He reaches up and thumbs at one of the bottom points of his helmet. "Full of wisdom, ain't we?" Robustus moves to pick up your helm and reaches to the back of your neck, reinitializing the pain receptors, then setting your helm back down. He hmms thoughtfully, "What's wrong with your back? Other than the obvious need for a paint job?" said in a humored tone. Then a chuckle, "Oh, maybe." he shrugs. Goa snorts as his pain receptors come back online, wiggling the jaw around the repair, but not touching at it quite yet. "Second time this decacycle. I'd leave it be, but it makes me look even mustier than the face-mess does. Can I sit up now?" Robustus leans over to check the paint and hmms, "Yes." he replies, turning off the heat lamp. "Did you need anything else while you are in my care, Goa?" he asks. Goa smiles from helmet wing to wing, then revs his engine. The tires at his heels unlock, and he scrapes forward ... off the table ... his legs bend to drive down the side ... finally, he pulls himself to an angle where he can sit up without flailing like a fool. Fortunately, he has no paint left there, so the damage is minimal. He rises to his feet. "No, but you need a drink next time I see you." He holds out his hand. "Here's hoping it'll be a little while longer between. ... that sounded bad." Robustus inclines his head to you, this time taking his own pain receptors down a few pegs in his hands mentally before taking your hand. "I would like that, thank you Goa. Do take care of yourself hm?" he says with a sincere smile. Goa's handshake is far more laid-back than before -- he hadn't known what to make of the mech then. "Don't hold me to that," he snorts, "but I'mma try." He rubs at the repair work done as he strolls out, quickly transforming and rumbling away without any particular hurry. Robustus inclines his head, "Right." he replies with a smile, then turning to work on packing in his set up for the cycle. Category:Logs Category:2010 Logs Category:Goa's Logs Category:Robustus's Logs